I first learnt of Israel’s occupation of Palestine about 12 years ago; not through a news report, United Nations or Amnesty International but a friend’s Facebook post after their interaction with a Palestinian man that took place as they were in a queue (if my memory serves me correctly it was a bank to be exact).
My friend, who at the time was wearing a ‘Free Palestine’ t-shirt described in their Facebook post how they were curiously stopped by the man. It detailed his astonishment and how his face lit up when they revealed they weren’t from Palestine but rather had been raised halfway across the globe and how he profusely thanked them for recognising his humanity and that of his people. It was a delicate reminder of what resistance and community solidarity looked like. I never forgot it, nor did I ever happen to discuss it with my friend until 2020. Before that, I kept it neatly tucked away in both my heart and mind as a lesson learned not only as it related to settler colonial history and the Nakba but also on empathy and community grief.
